My Little Titanic
by Travellers all
Summary: A retelling of James Cameron's epic movie, with ponies.
1. Chapter 1

Inside a two and a half meter sphere, three large ponies sat in a pile. All around them, consoles crammed with equipment illuminated their faces. The pilot, Anatole, a massive Russian , hunched over the controls, his massive Russian head resting between his hooves. "Ах, под сосною, под зеленою, Спать положите вы меня! Ай-люли, люли, ай-люли, люли, Спать положите вы меня.," his voice rang out softly in the sphere.

Beside him, drooling on the CO2 scrubber, sat a thin brown unicorn with a gray mane hanging over his eyes. Rock Heart was his name, and this was going to be his eighth salvage operation, with seven ships already found under his name. He stirred quietly, ear flicking at the familiar Russian singing.

Lying across both of them was a red maned yellow Pegasus named Steep Dive. He had both wings stretched out as far as they would go, the tips of his broad wingspan curling underneath both of the other ponies in the sphere. Sitting on the console in front of him was a pile of blue paper, the schematics of the Titanic.

With a flick of his hoof, Anatole adjusted the balance of the submersible, re-centering the balance as it approached the ground below.

The submersible, from outside a short cylinder, dipped down and touched the soft mud with a gentle kiss that threw up small clouds of debris.

Inside, Rock lurched awake, almost kicking Steep Dive in the muzzle, "Wha!"

"We are here," Anatole stopped singing and started peering through the tiny port-hole at the front, only occasionally glancing at his array of sensors.

Off to one side sat a second submersible, a large, brilliantly visible red '2' painted on the otherwise white surface.

"Mir one to Mir two, how was the drop?" Rock smiled as he waited for the return signal, crawling through the water. Even as close as they were, radio-waves were slow underwater, and had to be boosted in power, so they really only could speak if they were within arm's reach.

"Long. Time to search. Meet back in four hours?"

"Affirmative," Rock nodded to himself, making a note.

Five minutes later, the submersible, Mir one, buzzed along, Anatole peering through the port-hole as Dive watched the sonar and the mud through his own port-hole. "A little to port, I see it. Eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen. Slow down, we're almost there."

"I don't see it."

The floodlights suddenly stopped illuminating mud, instead crawling up a towering plane of rusting metal. Anatole threw the thrusters into reverse, the force knocking Rock over onto his side.

"There she is."

The submarine began to rise off the mud, lights climbing up the massive panel. As it reached the top, the submersible started crawling along the railing, until it came to a point at the bow. Anatole turned Mir one and backed away, revealing the knife edge of the ship, illuminated by the powerful floodlights. Below, just barely visible in the light of the submersible, the bow sank into the mud, pushing it aside like black waves, bringing images to the three's minds of how the magnificent vessel must have looked eighty-four years ago. It was beautiful, and intact, except for the moss-like growths of rust hanging from every metal surface.

Rock brushed a hoof across his eye, wiping away a tear, "It still gets me, right here," he tapped his chest.

Anatole smiled, "Is just guilt. For stealing from the dead."

Rock picked up a camera from a small shelf near the top and switched it on, turning it towards himself, "Thanks, Brother, Work with me here."

He smiled at the camera, checking his reflection in the lens before pressing the record button, "It still gets me every time… to see this sad ruin of a great ship. Just sitting here, rusting away, where she landed at two thirty in the morning, April fifteenth, Nine-Twelve of the reign of Celestia, after a long fall from the world above."

Anatole rolled his eyes, "Драма есть кровать куин-сайз."

Dive shook his head, "Boss, you're full of shit."

Anatole started the submarine forward again, letting Rock aim the camera through the porthole beside him, across the immense forecastle, anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, bronze windlasses gleaming through the rust.

Mir two was just barely visible creeping along the side, around the massive anchor. "Geez, it's like a bug," Dive pointed at the eight meter submersible as it crept past the railing and dove out of sight.

"Here we are again, on the deck of the Titanic, three kilometers down. Four hundred and twenty-two kilograms per square centimeter. Enough to crush this sub like an ant under a freight train if the hull fails. These windows are twenty centimeters thick, and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds."

The submersible settled gently onto the top of the boat-house, pointing Rock, and the camera at the officers quarters.

Rock smiled, "Right, now let's get to work," he set the camera down and switched it off, pulling the tape out and sliding it into a recorder set into the panel above him.

Dive nodded and stuck his head into a pair of goggles with screens mounted on them before wrapping his wingtips around a pair of joysticks and settling into a seated position, using Anatole's back as a chair.

"Alright Snoopy, see what you see," Dive pushed forward on both sticks.

Rock tapped the record button, watching as the light turned red, "Recording."

Snoopy, a bright red boxy device, puttered out from a wire cage in the belly of the submersible, towing a green tether behind it. Two cameras transmitted images to Steep Dive, but only one was actually being recorded. Slowly it crawled up to the edge of a large cavity, the Grand Staircase, or where it used to be. Dive counted off the decks as it descended, and pushed forward into the First Class Reception Room. Dive breathed a soft, "Beautiful…" as the cameras swept across ornately carved woodwork, somehow still not eaten by parasites. The elegant lines were only broken up by the trails of rust hanging from every metal surface, blurring the image into a vast underwater grotto before it melted back into the floating mansion it was.

A piano, mashed against a wall, yet still apparently intact. Snoopy moved closer, and with a touch that wouldn't even ruffle a feather, Dive pressed a gripper against the nearest key. The ivory disintegrated under the touch, and Dive swore.

He turned Snoopy away from the piano and moved away, dexterously ducking under a chandelier that gleamed in the floodlights, lit up once again. Along the floor, a bottle of champagne, still sealed with wax; a few plates, some still intact; a high-heeled shoe; a porcelain doll-head. Snoopy dipped down and very gently grabbed the bottle by the neck, lifting it from the sediment. Three ponies held their breath as Dive placed the bottle gently in the carrying rack beneath the boxy ROV. It didn't break, and all three let out deep sighs.

The next hallway stretched out, much more intact than the last, some doors even still hanging on their hinges, ornate moulding, a lamp sconce, hints of the grandeur. Stopping to glance down at the schematics in his lap, Dive ran a hoof along the lines before turning his attention back to the ROV, "I'm at the door. Stateroom B-fifty-two. The door is still intact," his voice dropped low enough that the microphone couldn't pick it up, "Sweet Celestia, let the door be unlocked."

The gripped gently touched the brass knob, knocking off a string of rust that dissipated into floating dust. The knob, amazingly, was still intact. The door, not so much. As soon as he twisted the knob, the heavy brass structure tore loose and fell, almost dragging the ROV down with it as it carved a path through the rotten wood door and hit the deck with a gooey clang. "Guess not, Sorry." He pushed the claw into the door and swept it across, cutting the rotten wood before climbing to cleave a vertical groove, then another horizontal one removed a chunk of wood-rot that rather amusingly stayed in shape as it was pushed out of the door, at least for a few moments before it too disintegrated into dust.

Dive gritted his teeth as the ROV jerked, "Something's got me. Gotta back out and try again."

The ROV backed slowly out of the hole, and followed back along the hallway until he saw the problem. The tether had become entangled on the chandelier. The gripper gently pinched the line and pulled it off the hooked brass, careful not to snag it on any rusted sharp edges. Pulling the line down to the deck, he paid it out slowly, ensuring that there were no knots. Finally, he was able to continue, and ran back to the stateroom. "I'm good," he glanced at Rock, who pushed the record button again as the ROV poked back into the room. A quick glance showed that the cable was still loose as he crept into the sitting room.

"I'm in the sitting room, heading towards Bedroom B fifty-two."

"Stay off the floor. Don't really feel like seeing how far through there Snoopy can get before clogging."

"Aye, Aye Bossman," Dive saluted with his free hoof as he pushed Snoopy past the antique fireplace. There were still logs in it, probably as moldy as the door. On the opposite side, the cameras panned over a divan and a writing desk. A quick check of the floor showed that an ink-pot had overturned on the deck, though any stains it might have made rotted away with the carpet.

The door to the bedroom was narrower, and the sides of Snoopy's casing brushed against it, tearing out chunks of wood that burst into dust and rust, "Crossing the room. Check out the bed," he pointed the cameras at the canopy bed. It was huge, but that wasn't the part he was pointing out. Tiny bubbles escaped from the edge of the flattened mattress, and Dive moved towards it, wary of the bubbles disrupting his flight path as he pressed the gripper through them. "Boss, can you run a check on the bubbles from here?"

The unicorn pressed his horn against the side of the sphere and focused, sending out a tendril of energy through the magically sensitive structure cable in the middle of the tether, routing through the many hundreds of meters of line, until he felt the ROV. Pushing his senses through that narrow band of energy was slightly more difficult, but it wasn't the first time he had done something like this. He waved Dive closer to the bubbles, the cameras' view filling with the blue-green glow of Unicorn magic as he poked at the bubbles. One exploded, then the entire mattress all of a sudden collapsed and a storm of bubbles roared up to the ceiling. Rock lurched back, banging his head on the instruments above him, "Oww…Bucking Clouds!"

Both of his teammates stared at him for a long moment, expecting an explanation, "It was filled with cloud magic. Damn mattress was a cloud sack. I burst the bubble, let out the magic."

Dive smiled, "Sounds about right. Records said the First Class used cloud mattresses for added comfort," he continued moving forward, over the bed, and up to the wardrobe against the wall. Carefully, he lifted a lamp out of the way, setting it aside. The ancient oil-lamp was probably useless now, so it could wait till later. The gripper closed around the wardrobe door, "If this doesn't open, I'm just gonna rip it off."

A quick affirmative from Rock gave him the go-ahead, and he tugged back. The door moved reluctantly, and bent, but didn't disintegrate like the other doors. Probably a thicker material. Shifting his position, Dive pointed the cameras down, keeping a light on the settling dust as it revealed a black object. "Is that?"

"You see what I see?"

The glow of the light from the display lit up Rock's broad smile, "Payday colts, Payday."

The small steel safe sat there, glowing in the light from Snoopy's back, beautifully intact.


	2. Chapter 2

The safe lowered gently to the deck of Russian research vessel Keldysh, watched by everyone around it. That consisted of the majority of the crew of the Keldysh, both submersible crews, and Filthy Rich, the financier of the expedition. In addition, a young colt named Pipsqueak held a camera that had to weigh at least as much as he did, filming the historic moment.

The three members of Mir one's crew trotted up to the safe, smiling like little foals on Hearth's Warming Eve, led by Steep Dive, all four hooves off the ground, "Who's the best, Say it…"

"You are, Dive," Rock Heart rolled his eyes, then turned to Pipsqueak, "You rolling, kid?"

Pipsqueak nodded, "Yes sir."

Rock nodded to the technicians, two heavyset Earth ponies who set to work breaking open the safe. As they worked, he started speaking again, "Here it is, the moment of truth. Here's where we find out if the time, the sweat, the money," a gesture at Mr. Rich, "and all the people brought out here to the middle of the North Atlantic… Were worth it. If what we think is in the safe, is, it will be the greatest…"

The safe door clangs to the deck, and Rock's face flips towards it, Pipsqueak barely able to follow him as he moved up and almost shoved his muzzle into the open box. His gleeful smile started to droop. His eyes dimmed. His jaw dropped. "Horseapples."

Dive clapped a hoof across Rock's back, "You know, this happened to Jury Rig, and his career never recovered."

Rock shoved the camera away, almost bowling over the colt holding it, "Get that outta my face." He stormed off, hooves clomping against the deck.

A pair of Unicorns carefully extracted several sheets of paper from the safe and slid them into a water-bath to separate them, while others, and a couple of Earth ponies and Pegasi worked on other artifacts, cleaning them up and settling them in magically treated bags to preserve them.

Filthy Rich scowled at the phone in his hoof, "I don't care. I know honey. This was a big risk. It didn't pay off. Yes, yes, I know. I'll be home in a couple of days. Bye." He hadn't meant to be so abrupt with his daughter, but she was wanting him home as soon as possible. Even as an adult mare, she still insisted on living at home, helping him with his finances, and she had been watching when the money had disappeared from his accounts.

Rock scowled at the video crew. Three colts and a filly with a hammer and apple on her flank. He flicked his eyes back to the colts, "You can't just pack it up! I'm paying your checks, you send what I say to, when I say to. Now get that video ready!"

Rich ducked in, "How's it going in here?"

Rock turned his face to the financier, "How's it going? How?" He sputtered, flecks of saliva splattering on the deck at Rich's hooves, "It's going like a first date in prison! What do you think?" A moment later, he composed himself, "Sorry, what does the company think?"

Rich held up his cell-phone. Immediately after hanging up with his daughter, he had called the financial department of Rich Enterprises. Rock took the device and pressed it to his ear, voice going from harried and strained to a sort of oily smooth texture one usually saw in second-hand cart salesponies.

"Hi Daven? Buried? Look, it wasn't in the safe. No, don't worry about it, there's plenty more places it could be. The floor debris in the suite, the mother's room, the purser's safe on deck C… Hang on a second," he moved over to a screen showing the camera view of the two unicorns cleaning up the papers. One hoof tapped the screen, "I think…" He darted across the corridor, into the room with the cleaning trays, "Let me see that portrait."

His blue-green magic encased the page gently, and he lifted it closer to his face, drawing a photograph out of his jacket pocket and setting them side-by-side. The charcoal drawing was in beautiful condition, though frayed at the edges, and showed a slender mare lying back on the divan he had glimpsed in the suite, a nude that made sure to show every detail. She was posed with a casual sort of modesty, the sort that turned it from pornography into art. And right there, at the base of her throat, sat the diamond necklace in the reference photo. Scribbled in the lower corner was a date, April 14, 912. Three letters, not mouth-written, nor magically scribed. R J D. Initials of the artist probably.

The phone slipped from his magical grip as he handed the two images to the technicians, "I'll be damned. It is."

"Welcome to the Equestrian News Network. Today, we have a very special event. Broadcasting live from the deck of the ESS Keldysh," the announcer pointed at Rock, "Treasure Hunter Rock Heart is best known for finding ancient Zebrican gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using the latest in deep-diving technology to work three kilometers down at another famous wreck, the Titanic. And here he is Mares and Gentlestallions, Rock Heart!"

The announcer stepped aside, levitating the microphone over to Brock, who took it in his own magic.

"Thank you Tracer. You know, Titanic is not just A shipwreck. Titanic is THE shipwreck, the Mount Everest of shipwrecks."

In a small home, surrounded by ceramic models and crammed with art of all shapes and sizes, the TV looked out of place. Only one pony could even see it, an elderly mare sitting a a potter's wheel. Sitting with her back to the TV, another mare, much younger, helped the older one spin the heavy wheel as the two listened to the broadcast.

"_I planned this expedition for years, searching for funding, searching for the right spot to dive, the technology to reach her. Now, finally, after so long, we are out here recovering amazing artifacts, things that will have immense historical and educational value."_

"_Now, it's no secret that education is not your main purpose. You are a treasure hunter by trade, and talent," the announcer indicated the shovel and gold emblem on his flank, "so what exactly is the treasure you are hunting here?"_

_Rock smiled, "I'd much rather show you, though not just yet."_

The older mare raised an ear towards the TV, "Turn it up please, dear."

_Your expedition is at the source of a storm of controversy, both over the salvage rights, and even the ethics of this dive. Many are calling you a grave robber."_

"_Nobody called the recovery of artifacts from King Mire's tomb 'Robbery'. I have museum trained professionals here, making sure every artifact we recover is brought up and perfectly preserved and catalogued," the champagne bottle floated into the frame, "A bottle of champagne, from the floor of a stateroom. Unfortunately, although the wax seal remained intact, water was able to work its way into the cork, and ruin the fine beverage. As the bottle floated off screen, the charcoal sketch floated into the frame, carefully blurred by both magic and the censor board. The camera panned in on the image, staying far enough back that it was obvious the image still sat in the water-bath it had been in before Rock grabbed it. He had taken the water too, "This drawing here, a piece that has been under water for eighty-four years, and we were able to preserve it intact. Should this have been left, remaining unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when it could instead be hung up and enjoyed in the here and now?"_

The old mare stopped moving for a long moment, her jaw creeping down slowly with a bony creak, "I'll be damned…"

Day three, third dive to the Titanic, Mir one and two were already in the water, just waiting for Rock to climb into his spot. He had one hoof in the hatch when Filthy Rich ran up to the edge of the floating dock, "There's a call for you sir."

"Mr. Rich, see these submarines, in the water? That means we're launching. Take a message."

"Sir, I think you'll want to take this. Trust me."

Rock had found that many of Filthy Rich's instincts were correct, after all, it was how the stallion had made much of his fortune.

He reached out with a tendril of magic and snagged the phone from Rich's hoof, bringing it down to his ear, "This is Rock Heart, what can I do for you…"

"Rose Culvert," Rich spoke quickly.

"Mrs. Culvert?"

"_Oh, I was just wondering if you had found the 'Heart of the Ocean' yet, Mr. Heart."_

He almost dropped the phone in the water, his magic flickering momentarily, with Filthy Rich smirking above him, "I told you, you wanted to take this call."

"Alright Rose, you have my attention. Can you tell me who the mare in the picture is?"

"_Of course. That mare, in the picture, is me."_

"It can't be," Steep dive muttered as he watched Mir two start a dive, going alone this time, "She's a Celestia-damned liar. A nutcase, like that… What's her name, Anasazi, the Russian babe?"

"Anastasia," Rock's expression didn't shift. It had been locked in the same position, a stunned sort of glower, since he had hung up the phone. Though maybe that was too gentle a way to describe what he did to the poor device after Rose had hung up her end. Filthy Rich had fished what was left out of the ocean with a guppy-net, only for Rock to stomp phone and net into the deck. Everything he knew had to be wrong, if this woman was who she claimed to be.

Rich spoke up, voice shaky, as he stood well back, "They're almost here. I can hear the chopper."

The cold face melted away in an instant as the treasure hunter went into cart-saleman mode, "She says she's Brilliant Rose Anwitt. It's not possible, right? Brilliant Rose died on the Titanic, at the age of sixteen. If she had lived, somehow, she'd be what, a hundred?"

"Last month. Looked her up," Anatole broke his own silence.

"So she's a very old liar. You traced her back to the twenties."

"Actress at the time, Last name at the time, Darkson. Then she married this stallion Open Culvert, moved to Cedar Rapids, had two kids. Now Culvert's dead, and from what I heard, so is Cedar Rapids."

The helicopter dipped in, forcing Rock to raise his voice, "And everybody who knows about the diamond is either dead, or on this ship, but she knows. I don't know how, but I want to at least hear what she has to say on the matter. Got it."

The helicopter settled onto the helipad, bouncing lightly on the rocking deck before the rotors slowed and stopped. Two men leapt from the vehicle and quickly secured the wheels to the deck before pushing a ramp into place. A little less than a dozen suitcases slid down the ramp, courtesy of the pilot, a broad shouldered Pegasus with a damaged wing. Finally, a wheelchair with the frail old mare rolled down the ramp, a tiny dog in her lap. As the younger mare wheeled her forward, the crew of the helicopter finally got around to unloading the important equipment, and Rock let them be, sending Rich and Anatole to help.

Dive smirked, "I'll go check our supply of Depends."

Inside a small room, below deck, Rock watched as the younger mare arranged several pictures on the dresser carefully.

"Is this room alright?" He was almost willing to give up his own, somewhat larger room, if necessary.

"Yes. Very nice. Have you met my grand-daughter, Fuzzy? She takes care of me."

Fuzzy Culvert smiled softly, "Yes, Granny, we met up on deck, just a few minutes ago. Remember, up on deck?"

"Oh, yes, of course. You know, my memory isn't as good as it used to be."

Rock glanced over his shoulder at Dive, who rolled his eyes, before looking back to the pictures. They were normal family photos. Foals, Grandfoals, a stallion they assumed was her late husband, "There, that's nice. I always have to have my pictures with me when I travel, and Freddy of course," she patted the dog on the head, "Isn't that right sweetie?"

Rock nodded silently along with the dog's bobbing head, "Can we get you anything?"

"I should like to see my drawing."


	3. Chapter 3

Rose smiled at the drawing lying in the water-bath, still being kept under until it was able to be sealed and preserved permanently. Her younger self looked out at her from eighty-four years ago, swaying and rippling , almost like it was alive. In her mind's eye, she could still see delicate wings lightly flicking the pencil across the paper, tracing the curve of her curled mane. His blue eyes peeking at her over the top of the page. She could feel her cheeks growing hot at the memory, how it had felt lying on that divan, bare and exposed, yet at the same time, entirely comfortable with it.

Only half listening, she heard Rock start droning through the history of the stone, "Blueblood the twelfth wore a fabulous stone called the Blue Diamond of the Night, which disappeared in Seven Ninety-two, about the same time he lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the diamond was chopped too… Supposedly recut into the shape of a heart, where it became…" he paused for a moment, rolling the words silently over his tongue to ensure proper pronunciation, "Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond."

"It was a dreadfully heavy thing," she traced her hoof through the air over the page, "I only wore it that one time."

"You actually believe this is you Grandma?"

"Of course, it is me, dear. Wasn't I a hot number?"

Rock blinked a couple of flashes of unwanted thoughts out of his head, "I tracked it down through insurance records… And an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the stallion who made the claim was, Rose?"

"I imagine his name was Hockley."

"Night Hockley, right. Pittsburgh Steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Kale Hockley had bought in France for his fiancée… You… a week before he sailed on the Titanic. The claim was filed immediately after the survivors reached New York. The facts say the diamond must have gone down with the ship," he turned to Fuzzy, "See the date here?"

She nodded, "April fourteen, Nine twelve."

"If your grandmother is who she says she is, she was wearing the Heart the day Titanic sank," he turned back to Rose, "And that makes you my best friend right now. I will happily compensate you for anything you can tell me that will lead to its recovery."

Rose didn't turn away from the water-bath, her voice rang out softly, "I don't want your money Mr. Heart. I know how hard it is for ponies who care greatly for bits to give them away."

Dive raised an eyebrow, "You don't want anything?"

"If anything I can tell you is of any use to you, the only thing I ask is for this," her hoof lowered to the surface of the water, "That is all."

"Deal," Rock's eyes flicked over to a table piled with artifacts from the stateroom, "We recovered these from the staterooms." Various objects mundane and valuable both, lay across the table. Her magic gently caressed a cracked tortoise-shell mirror and floated it over to her. Her yellow magic glinted off the inlay of pearls as she rotated it towards herself.

"This was mine, yes. How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it," As it rotated to her face, her smile shrank only slightly, "The reflection has changed a bit though."

She lifted a slightly corroded silver and moonstone mane-tie, "My mother's. She wanted to go back and get it. Caused quite a fuss," her smile widened again at the memory of her always dignified mother, kicking and biting, trying to get to that little piece of metal.

A steel comb with a jade butterfly on the tar black stone handle rose into the air, spinning lightly in the air, "I always hated this thing. The butterfly made it impossible to position properly to do my own mane, so I had to have my mother do it for me. And she objected to getting a more practical one for me to use when she wasn't around."

As the objects settled back onto the table, Rock switched gears again, "Alright Rose, are you ready to go back to Titanic?"

The dark TV room showed video, recorded during the safe's recovery dive, still uncut and raw. Images panned across all of the screens from the internal and external cameras on both submersibles and the two ROVs, Snoopy and Tank.

Dive waved at the camera-colt as they entered, "Still rolling?"

Pipsqueak nodded, "Yes."

Rose glanced past the two co-workers, at one of the screens. It showed the disturbing clip of the bow of the ship, hauntingly covered in long, red rust strings. Her eyes went wide as she remembered how it had looked from the other side, so many decades ago. Rock took notice and tapped Dive on the shoulder, pointing to the screen with his horn.

"The bow struck the bottom like an axe, from the impact. I can show you a simulation of what we have been able to discover, over on this monitor here," Fuzzy turned the wheelchair so Rose could see better as Dive kept talking, "We've put together the largest database on the Titanic here. Alright, here goes…"

"Rose might not want to see this, Dive."

"No, it's fine. I'm curious. Go ahead," she prompted the yellow Pegasus with a gentle push on his hoof with her magic.

The animatin starts, and Dive follows it with a blow-by-blow narration, "She hits the iceberg on the starboard side and it sort of bumps along…Punches holes like morse code. Dit Dit Dit, down her side. Now she's flooding in the forward compartments. She was meant to float with four bulkheads breached. This breached five. Then water starts spilling over the tops of the bulkheads, going aft. As the bow comes down, the stern climbs into the air. Slowly at first, until the stern is entirely elevated, and begins to rise faster. Twenty or thirty thousand tons. The hull can't deal, and tears. Skritt! The keel acts as a big hinge. Now the bow swings down, and the stern falls back level. The weight of the bow is too much, and pulls the stern back to vertical before the keel finally breaks away, heading for the bottom. The stern bobs like a cork for a few more seconds before flooding and going under about 2:20 AM, two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

The animation shows the path the bow took down to the ocean floor. Rose watches with a clinical detachment, no visible emotion.

The bow pulls away and planes almost half a mile under the ocean before it collides with the bottom at about twelve miles per hour," the animation shows the collision without the spray of mud that no doubt was there for the real event, "The bow dug itself into the mud, nearly twenty feet in, putting the entire water-line beneath the mud, including the tear," the animation flipped to the stern as it sank, "The stern imploded from the pressure, the air inside being expelled through any surface that couldn't take it, landing like a big pile of scrap," he let the animation finish, "Cool huh?"

"Thank you for your fine forensic analysis, Mr. Dive. Of course, the experience of it was somewhat less clinical," Rose still had that unnerving flatness to her gaze as she stared at the screen.

Rock came to the rescue, "Will you share it with us?" Aged eyes flicked across the screens, showing the various views of the wreck below, The camera from Rock's own hoof, panning over the fore-deck, past one of the davits for the life-boats, still intact.

Rose felt her eyes begin to tear up as she imagined the ghostly waltz music, the echo of a shouting officer, calling for 'Mares and foals first'. Screaming faces in a running crowd. Pandemonium. Terror. People crying, praying, begging Celestia to save them, kneeling on the deck. Just flashes in the dark, but every view brought more back. Another monitor showed an endless, dark corridor, wooden doors long-since corroded away, gaping open like monstrous maws. A colt standing in ankle deep water, lost and alone.

She let her head fall to her hooves, and wept softly.

Fuzzy began to turn the wheelchair, "I'll take her back to her room to get some rest."

She wa about to push the chair out the door when Rose let out a sharp, "NO."

Everyone flinched and every eye in the room locked on the strong-willed old mare. The sweet old lady was gone. The faded gray eyes had turned to steel in an instant. Rock held a hoof to the side, indicating that everyone was to be silent. "Tell us Rose."

"It's been eighty-four years…"

"Just tell us what you can."

Her hoof rose into the air, limply, but still with an air of strength, "It's been eighty-four years…and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. I remember the smells of wood varnish, leather polish, wood and rope. Sweat and copper," her voice turned wistful for a moment, and Rock took the opportunity to place a small recorder at her side, starting it up with a soft whirr. "Titanic was called the ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was…"


	4. Chapter 4

_The ship was a majestic tower. From the ground, it blocked most of the sky. What the ship itself didn't block, the orange funnels did. Crewponies darted back and forth, massive Earth ponies dragging heavy loads, nimble Pegasi flicking back and forth carrying light loads up and down. Unicorns ensuring that tie-downs were secured. Even Gryphons and Zebras made appearances, along with a hoof-full of broad shouldered Minotaurs and the odd Thestral. And every-one looked like an ant on the awe inspiring size of the cruise ship._

_The date was April tenth, Nine-Twelve, I was sixteen, and to that day had never before seen so many ponies in one place. Crowds of them, swarming so thick that law officers had to clear a path for my mother's carriage. It was a fine carriage, designed for luxury. A Renault. Four passengers, with a small steam engine to assist the driver on hills. I rather liked that car. A shame it went down with the ship._

A white carriage, the Renault, eased up to the dock, the gray Earth pony pulling it smiling as he came to a stop and engaged the wheel lock. Slipping out of the harness, he moved around to the side and tugged the door open, letting in the sheer volume of the crowds. It was here that the aging pony felt most at home, not travelling through the cavernous expanses of land between country estates.

He reached a hoof up and carefully took hold of a white leather boot, trimmed in purple lace. Stepping back, he helped a young mare climb down from the carriage, baring her white travelling dress, trimmed with more purple lace. As she reached the ground, she raised her head, tilting a broad-brimmed white hat with a series of purple Pegasus feathers laced to the crest. Her blue eyes shone in the sun, one slightly covered by a light red curl of mane. Her sun-colored fur shone under the efforts of her mother's careful application of makeup and glitter. Her lips curled up in a dignified smile, "I don't see what all the fuss is about, Hoof. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania."

Behind her, a stallion in a dark travelling suit slipped out of the carriage, oozing arrogance and money as he stepped onto the concrete, "you can be blasé about a lot of things Rose, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer… _Yes, Kale may have been educated, but he never liked to use 'higher language', like meters…_ and far more luxurious. It has Squash courts, a Prench café, Griffonian baths… It has everything," the stallion turned around and held out a hooficured forehoof, helping a middle aged mare down. Truth Anwitt, Rose's mother, and a social empress, from a prominent family in Fillydelphia. Recently widowed, she held the stance of a dignitary, her own tan fur glistening in the light.

Kale turned to Truth, "Your daughter is much harder to impress than you ever were," he pointed at a puddle, "Mind your step."

"So, Kale, they say this ship is unsinkable," gears turned in the young mare's head. She had spent most of the ride reading everything she could about the ship without making it obvious to the other occupants of the carriage. It wasn't that they objected, necessarily, to her reading. They just preferred that it be upper-class literature, rather than the gritty, factual, detailed forms about the ship she was going to be sailing on. She didn't buy into the hype, although she was fairly confident that the ship wouldn't sink.

"Oh, she is unsinkable. Celestia herself couldn't sink this ship," he spoke with the pride of a host, providing a special experience.

Behind him, climbing off the back of the carriage, Kale's personal valet, Spicer Lovejoy, dropped to the ground. The Earth pony stood just over two meters tall, fur the color of slate, and a short cropped mane and tail the color of tar bringing out his steely eyes. Strapped to either side of Spicer's flanks, almost blending into his cutie-marks, were a pair of dueling pistols. A pair of Pegasus mares in red trimmed white dresses joined him, Rose and Truth's personal maids.

As the group moved away from the carriage, Rose giving the driver, Helping Hoof, a last hug before joining the group. A porter rushed up to them, checking something off on his clipboard, "Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, down that way," he pointed into the crowd, and was about to continue talking when he was silenced by Kale pushing a folded bill into the stallion's breast pocket and patting it gently.

"There's a five bit note," _five bits was quite a lot back in those days. Roughly the equivalent of me giving someone a hundred bit note._ The porter blinked slowly for a second, as Kale added, "I put my faith in you, good sir. See my stallion here," he indicated Lovejoy.

"Yes sir. My pleasure, Sir," the porter moved away, and Kale smiled. He loved the effect money had on the unwashed masses.

As the porter reached Lovejoy, he looked up at the towering stallion, who spoke in a measured tone, like every word he said was a fifty bit poker chip and he was holding a pair of twos, "These trunks here, and twelve more in the carriage. We'll have all this lot up in the rooms, and the carriage in the hold."

The porter flinched, then his horn started glowing as he summoned several of the large Griffons and Minotaurs to help load everything. Kale waved Lovejoy to join him as the group approached the boarding ramp.

"We'd better hurry. This way ladies," his pocket-watch slipped back into his pocket, the silver surface sliding smoothly into his breast pocket.

Bearing heavy saddlebags, filled with all the things too fragile for the baggage handlers, the two maids and Lovejoy followed the three noble Unicorns through the crowds. Kale led the way, weaving past carts, carriages, and passengers. At this point it was mostly second-class and steerage, as well as well-wishers. Above them, the majority of the first-class passengers are staying clear of the smelly mass by using elevated boarding bridges.

On their way, they passed a line of steerage passengers lined up between rope barriers, with Unicorn inspectors sweeping across them, looking for lice.

A well dressed, though obviously second class, stallion stood behind a camera, cranking the handle on the side with one hoof as another gestured at his young bride, who stood before the ship, "Look up at the ship, darling. Yes, like that. You're amazed, can't believe how big it is. Like a mountain. That's great." It wasn't. The mare lacked even the slightest hint of an acting bone in her body, and as such did an overly dramatic, though patently false expression of amazement, hooves raised in the air.

Kale went to scoff at the terrible acting, but was interrupted by a pair of colts, both with cherry red manes and brown coats, barreling past him. One skidded under him, almost clipping his chest with a flick of a muddy red tail. A moment later, a large brown stallion with a green mane, chopped almost to his scalp, barely managed to side-step in front of the noble.

"Steady!"

"Sorry squire," the stallion charged after the two colts, "You two get back here! If we miss the boat, I'm selling the both of you to the mines!"

Kale spat on the ground, "Steerage swine. Apparently he missed his annual bath," the unicorn raised his nose high into the air, keeping it at such an angle that his muzzle didn't entirely block his view of the ground, just in case."

"Honestly Kale, if you hadn't weren't always booking everything at the last possible instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family," Truth raised an eyebrow as she sidestepped a suspicious looking pile of something brown on the decking.

Kale glanced back for a split second, "All part of my charm, Truth. At any rate, it was my darling fiancee's beauty rituals which made us late."

"You told me to change. Why I would have been happy in nothing at all, were it appropriate to do so."

"Yes, but dear, I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day. It's bad luck."

She wrinkled her nose, "You're wearing black."

He sighed. Why had he picked the most strong-willed filly he could have laid eyes on, "Because it's traditional for stallions to wear black dear."

She stuck her tongue out at him, "I felt like black."

Kale guided her off to one side, away from a carriage pulled by four massive stallions, labeled Marmalade. Food for the chefs.

"Here we go," he pushed closer to the ship, "I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites…" Rose faked a smile. "And you act like you're going to your execution."

The great wall of the ship loomed over them. An iron wall, tall and imposing as it curved out gently over her head. Black all the way up. It reminded her of a prison, the way the railing on the top was just barely visible, peeking out over the curled lip. Kale motioned up the broad gang-plank, ""Come along dear. We wouldn't want the ship to leave without us."

She trotted up the ramp in as dignified a manner as she could, entering the massive iron doors to D deck in a cloud of overwhelming dread. _It was the ship of dreams, to everypony else. To me, it was a slave ship, taking me back to America in chains. Gilded though it was, it was still a prison, still chains._

He took her hoof in his, escorting her into the dim lighting of the ship. _Outwardly, I was everything a well-raised filly should have been. Inside, I was screaming._

She shuddered as the dread dug into her back, pressing down on her more than any saddle-bags ever had. She flinched as the steam horns four decks above, and up on the towering funnels, screamed the departure warning.


End file.
